And at that Ransford rapped out a name, putting a quick suggestion of meaning inquiry into his voice.
"Bryce ?" he asked.
The girl nodded her face showing distinct annoyance and dislike.

Before saying more, Ransford lighted a cigarette.
"Been at it again ?" he said at last.

"Since last time ?" "Twice," she answered.

"I didn't like to tell you--I've hated to bother you about it.

But--what am I to do?
I dislike him intensely--I can't tell why, but it's there, and nothing could ever alter the feeling.
And though I told him--before--that it was useless--he mentioned it again--yesterday--at Mrs.Folliot's garden-party." "Confound his impudence!" growled Ransford.